Burned
by Atthla
Summary: SPOILERS A poor excuse for Syaoran to get a kiss from his clone.


**Burned **

**Author: Atthla**

**Disclaimer: **Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle belongs to CLAMP.

Warnings: Heavy SPOILERS. Do not proceed past this point if you have not finished reading the Tokyo Arc and mind spoilers.

**Rating:** PG-13 for kissing

**Pairing: **CSyaoran/RSyaoran

**Summary:** (SPOILERS) A poor excuse for Syaoran to get a kiss from his clone.

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It was the scent of blood.

How he could separate one from the rest was unclear to Syaoran, but he turned around and started to run to the opposite direction. Rows of thatch-roofed houses were burning on his right and left, the heat furiously licking his skin. There were screams in the background, faint against the crackling noises all around him, and he briefly thought about the princess. Fay was with her, he assured himself and increased his pace. This was more important right now.

He couldn't feel the feather, but he knew that his clone was here. And there was only one reason why _he_ would be here.

The pattern of his breathing had become fast and erratic when Syaoran finally came to a stop. His lips thinned when he noticed an old woman lying motionless at the feet of a burning house, blood soaking her clothes from a fresh wound. His clone was here. There was no doubt about it.

He turned around in time to see a blurry shadow dashing to his direction, but reacted a second too late. It hit him square on the chest and he tumbled backward at the impact. The hard, dusty ground welcomed him, but before he could get a proper look at his attacker, a weight had settled on his stomach, firm, almost cold fingers curling around his neck.

"You always follow me everywhere."

Snarling, Syaoran tried to throw the other boy off him, but the weight and the hand kept him in place. He glared at a pair of mismatched eyes, ignoring the intensifying heat all around him. That he was lying next to a burning house was the last of his worries right now. He was more concerned with the fact that he had let his guard down and allowed his twin – who was little more than a feather-radar-cum-killing-machine at the moment – an opening to attack him.

And then he noticed _the_ feather. White and delicate, faintly glowing in the tight grip of his clone's left fingers. A surge of new strength flooded his veins at this sight, along with a mishmash of unpleasant emotions that made him grit his teeth. His hand shot upward in an attempt to snatch the feather, but his twin was faster and the target narrowly escaped his grasp.

The same, however, could not be said about the other boy's wrist.

"Let go."

The voice was devoid of any emotion and the fingers around his neck increased their pressure, making Syaoran gaped for air. He could feel anger starting to build inside him, even though the source was unclear. It could be the sadness that always lined Sakura's face and the fact that her most precious person didn't care in the slightest for her tears. It could be the blank, detached eyes, this emotionless doll the world had created to fulfill its selfish desires. It could be his pathetic self, unable to do anything but watch from behind glass as the person who mattered the most to him walked straight to his doom.

His twin. His mindless, brutal, heartless twin.

Syaoran opened his mouth, but no voice could make it past his constricted throat save for a faint, unintelligible squeak. He glanced around frantically, looking for something to distract the clone and free himself, but all chances seemed to have gone hidden behind the curtain of smoke and heat. In that frenzied haze, he caught a glimpse of the feather again and Sakura's tearful smile flashed in a dark corner of his mind.

"It…" he closed his eyes, trying to gain a semblance of control over his failing vocal chords, and simply shouted when he realized that control was a far-fetched illusion for his chaotic mind, "…isn't yours!"

"Then it isn't yours either," the other said tonelessly, completely unimpressed by his strangled holler. "After all I am you."

Through blurring eyes, Syaoran glared at him and tightened his fingers around the bony wrist. He could feel blood pulsing under the skin, the same red, _human _blood which surged from his heart and rushed in his ears. His twin responded in kind, the assault to his neck increasing painfully, and Syaoran found himself trashing wildly about, his other hand clawing at tattered and bloodied cloak. He had to live to put an end to this twisted journey – existence. He couldn't die in the hand of his clone. Not yet.

The thought, the blazing determination slipped from his mental grasp the moment said clone sealed his mouth with a kiss.

Syaoran registered shock, the complete cessation of his heartbeat, and then warmth. Odd, stifling warmth that burned his lips and set his nerves on fire. Panic came bursting in pursue a second later, violently reviving his other senses, and he was forced to remember his current predicament. To remember, however, was the most he could do once lack of air made its presence clear to him. Syaoran could feel his grip weakening, his eyes sliding shut, and the rest of the world bled into nothingness.

It was not long until his hand fell powerless to his side, a dull thud on the dusty ground. The lips against his mouth continued to move with agonizing slowness, but the fingers around his neck didn't let go. Syaoran knew that he was losing his consciousness, that he once again was letting Fei Wong win, but for one strange, breathless moment, he realized that he didn't care.

And then they were gone. It was abrupt, utterly unexpected, and Syaoran found himself gasping at the loss, hot air rushing into his lungs painfully. He was vaguely aware of his clone's weight shifting from his stomach, but his entire concentration was wasted on another task – gathering the scattered pieces of his brain and making sure that he didn't break down with every breath taken, every sense gained back.

When he finally opened his eyes, his other self had disappeared.

Syaoran wanted to laugh, the bitter emotion swirling in his chest, crashing like an angry storm against a defenseless shore. The house continued to burn but he only stared at the starless night sky, the sound of distancing footsteps echoing in his mind. His twin had gone, once again leaving destruction in his wake.

End


End file.
